


Alone in Front of the Yard (May, 1987)

by Feather_Song



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: 80s Music References, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Quiet and Soft, Soft 80s Small Town Vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26526670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feather_Song/pseuds/Feather_Song
Summary: Jongdae has always seen Junmyeon as a brother, but lately something has changed and Jongdae doesn't know what to do about it (but make it late-80s small town vibes).
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol, Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Junmyeon | Suho, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52
Collections: Shall we Chen? Fictional Fest First Round





	Alone in Front of the Yard (May, 1987)

**Author's Note:**

> (#321)
> 
> first of all, thank you to the mods, to the recipient, and to my amazing beta, who gave me enough motivation to finish this even as my life was falling apart. the 80s setting just felt right when i was writing and i'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted.
> 
> secondly, some notes:
> 
> \- even though the title of this is kim wansun's second album, the one that jongdae mostly listens to is her first album (released in april 1986 and called 'tonight'). 
> 
> \- this is actually set in 1989, hence the brief reference to the seoul 1988 olympics.

Just as Kim Wansun’s _Spring_ tapered off into its melancholic conclusion, Jongdae’s bus made a sharp turn and began crawling up the familiar steep incline of his neighbourhood. Figuring he had no time to flip the tape over to the B-side anyway, Jongdae yanked the earbuds from his ears and shoved the Walkman into his overflowing messenger bag, wedging it between his ID papers and some old paperback he had been reading. With the whole bus quietly observing, he wrestled his suitcases off the luggage rack and over to the doors, heaving everything over just in time for the bus to trundle to a stop and for the doors to slide open.

He would have to walk another ten minutes or so up the hill but it was the closest stop to his home and safer than walking the whole way up from the station so really, it was the best that he could have done.

“Did you bring your whole dormitory along with you or something?” a very familiar voice floated over from the side and Jongdae spun to find Junmyeon leaning on the railings by the bus stop, one ankle hooked around another. He was dressed simply, in a red long sleeve tee, dark blue jeans, and dirty white trainers. His glasses were the same as three years ago, a little bit chunky and a lot ugly.

Jongdae had almost forgotten quite how _plain_ life was in his hometown. There was no bustle of the city, no rush to follow the latest fashion trends. Time seemed to move slower in the countryside and Jongdae always seemed to forget until he visited. Maybe that was why he came back so rarely.

“You’re here?” he gaped, dropping his bag onto the floor and bringing Junmyeon in for a tight hug, hand clapping him on the back a few times. The other protested weakly but let Jongdae hug it out for a few moments before pushing him away with finality.

“Yeah,” he laughed, looking Jongdae up and down, “to walk you home. I thought you might need help with your stuff.” His eyes slid over to Jongdae’s mass of luggage and he frowned with thinly-veiled apprehension and distrust. “It’s a good thing I’m here.”

“How are things around here anyway?” Jongdae stepped back and slung his bag back over his shoulder, fumbling with the few items that tried to escape.

Junmyeon didn’t answer immediately, but after a few minutes he said, “you’d know if you’d visited.” Even though his tone was light, Jongdae knew Junmyeon well enough to recognise when the elder wasn’t indifferent about something, and fought hard to contain his guilt. There were many reasons for his lack of visits and he would be lying if he said that none of them had anything to do with Junmyeon.

“Yeah I’m sorry about that. But still. How are my parents doing?”

Junmyeon stopped suddenly in his tracks and stared Jongdae down. “Do you not think that it’s a depressing state of affairs when _you_ have to ask _me_ how _your_ parents are doing?”

Jongdae shrugged as best he could with the added weight to his shoulder. “I mean, you’re the one who lives with them. So.” It was not the best thing to say, not by far, and the line of Junmyeon’s mouth tightened even more. He suddenly looked tired.

“They’re fine. How is Seoul?” he asked instead of scolding Jongdae. They stood in the middle of the empty street with all of Jongdae’s life possessions between them. There was hardly ever any traffic so high up the mountain and the air hung still and heavy around them. Jongdae had no idea how long Junmyeon had waited for him at the bus stop.

“It’s great actually, yeah. There’s a pretty cool guy in my dorm. He’s really...great. Yeah. Quite rich.”

“Yeah?” Junmyeon raised an eyebrow. Jongdae couldn’t tell whether he was being encouraged to talk more or not. Probably not.

They didn’t speak any more, just continued walking up the hill, Jongdae on the sidewalk (because he was used to it) and Junmyeon in the middle of the road, dragging Jongdae’s heaviest suitcase along behind him.

***

Junmyeon unlocked the door and pushed it open, standing back to let Jongdae pass through first. The hinges didn’t squeak as they usually did and Jongdae absently wondered when his family had gotten round to oiling them.

He waited for Junmyeon to walk in but the elder just stood back, waiting patiently. “It’s your house, come on.”

“Oh, sure. Thanks.” Jongdae’s messenger bag, once again, nearly spilled its contents all over the floor as he ducked back Junmyeon and through the doorway.

The house was exactly as he had left it, the door immediately leading to a tiny beige vestibule that could barely fit Jongin’s trainer collection and all of their slippers. This, in turn, spilled out into a cramped living room with its cluttered coffee table and ratty couch. Even the clumsily knitted quilt thrown over the armrest was the same as Jongdae remembered. They hadn’t even changed the telephone - it still had the nasty crack that wouldn’t let the receiver sit right in its cradle.

Jongdae’s slippers were still in the same place as always, nestled between his brother’s and Junmyeon’s. They were probably too small for him now, Jongdae thought. He stepped out of his sneakers and traipsed on in only his socks, lugging his suitcase across the living room and over to where his bedroom had always been.

“Oh,” Junmyeon called out as if to get his attention, “we moved you out of there. Hold on.” He stepped into his slippers and hurried over, leaving Jongdae’s last bag by the front door. He led Jongdae over to the room that his parents used to occupy and pushed open the door.

Jongdae’s family had always lived in the same house, sharing the cramped space as best they could. Back when he and Jongin were kids, it wasn’t really a problem. Neither of them were too fussy or took up too much space and were happy enough being shoved in the same room as their father’s office equipment and any spare furniture they happened to have lying about. But as Jongdae grew older and the stresses of living started to pile up, the frustration at having no personal space increased and things had started to change.

Jongin had voluntarily moved into a room with their parents - always the more mature child, always the pride of the family - and Jongdae had been left to his own devices in the storage room, alone. He had made it work somehow, had settled in as best he could. Nevertheless, most of his evenings were spent hanging out with his friends or studying in the local library. Jongin may have been more studious, but at least Jongdae had more friends.

Junmyeon moved in exactly one month before Jongdae sped off with his scholarship to Yonsei University. His parents had been friends with Jongdae’s parents and after a series of disastrous and heartbreaking events, it was decided that he would take over the space that Jongdae would soon be vacating. That was probably, in hindsight, the start of Jongdae’s descent into madness.

“We shuffled things around a little bit after your parents moved out,” Junmyeon admitted, “I hope you don’t mind too much. Your brother moved his things earlier in the day but if you find anything else just drop it by your old room.”

Jongdae shuffled past, leaving his bags in the corridor. The floor creaked unfamiliarly; even in his childhood, he had very rarely entered his parents’ room. It had obviously been tailored to suit Jongin’s decor tastes, but a lot of the old furniture was still there. His parents had taken their bed and the vanity desk but the wardrobe was still the same, and the art on the walls hadn’t changed. The bookshelves were empty and Jongdae wondered how long it had taken his parents to move the huge collection that had been there ever since he could remember.

“Where are you staying?” he asked as he looked around. The curtains hadn’t changed either - still the same gaudy orange floral design.

“With Jongin in the other room,” Junmeyon answered. “Although he spends most of his time with his girlfriend these days. Mostly we’ll have the house to ourselves.”

“When did my parents leave?” Jongdae played with the curtains, wondering how quickly he’d be able to find a less horrible pair. The tasteless artwork on the walls would have to go too.

Junmyeon hummed. “Almost a year ago now. They don’t live that far away, I’ll show you a bit later. Your dad said he was working late and your mother said she wanted to cook a big meal for you all, so they’d prefer it if we came around in the evening.”

“You’re a better son than I am by this point,” Jongdae huffed bitterly. He half expected Junmyeon to reply with something like, _‘well, it doesn’t take much’,_ but the elder just smiled, a little sadly.

Junmyeon left to drag the rest of the luggage into the room and Jongdae rushed to help him, their shoulders bashing into each other in the limited space.

***

“Where’s Jongin now?” Jongdae asked over his open suitcase. Half of his clothes were folded on the floor beside him (he would hang them all up later) and half were set aside (he would keep them packed away until he went back to Seoul). Junmyeon was perched on the edge of his bed, flicking through a few textbooks with interest. He had offered to help but Jongdae, not keen on anyone touching his things, had declined.

“He’s still at school, ‘Dae,” Junmmyeon murmured and turned a page, “it’s barely four o’clock.” Jongdae had no clue how much of what he was reading he was understanding but, then again, Jongdae wasn’t the most efficient in technological talk either and could follow the course well enough.

“Oh.” Jongdae pulled out yet another sketchbook and flung it carelessly onto the growing pile. Art Design and Architecture had never been his dream career route, but he was good enough at drawing and at physics to enjoy it. The aim, rather, had been the location. Not necessarily Yonsei, but Jongdae had wanted to go _away._ He had wanted to _run._ Some of the Seoul universities had been offering a scholarship, Jongdae had applied to all of them and had been accepted at Yonsei. It really had been as simple as that.

He couldn’t tell whether Junmyeon had been upset with him or mad at him or even a mixture of both or where exactly they stood now, three years down the line. The elder had never been too forthcoming with his emotions and Jongdae had never had the energy to figure him out until the end, taking what was given at face value and running with it. Honestly, Junmyeon and Jongin were better suited as siblings, with Jongdae as the outsider.

“Are you hungry?” Junmyeon asked from the bed, having moved on to examining Jongdae’s pager with interest. Junmyeon essentially still lived in the ‘70s, which suited the town just fine but Jongdae, who had never felt like part of the town anyway, found it odd. Whenever he was at home, he always ended up wondering whether he was the only one that moved forward with the years while the rest of the place just remained stuck in the swamp of the past.

“Yeah, a bit,” he replied.

“I’ll call you out when it’s done, you just keep on unpacking.” Junmyeon stood and stretched, then left the room. Jongdae could hear the shuffle of his slippers as he disappeared into the kitchen.

He was in the process of trying to organise his stereo and cassette collection when Junmyeon popped his head around the door, glasses steamed up and hair ruffled. For the first time that day, the smile he sent Jongdae was genuine.

“It turned out great, come try,” he said. He waited for Jongdae to finish fiddling with the cables (there were several of them and only one socket, go figure) before scurrying back to the kitchen excitedly. Jongdae followed at a much calmer pace, taking a look around the corridor as he did so. Surprisingly, his and Jongin’s kindergarten artworks were still hung up on the walls. He wondered why his brother hadn’t taken them down yet.

Junmyeon had made _kongnamul guk_ or - as Jongdae explained to his non-Korean friends at university - soybean sprout soup. He’d even snipped the roots off to give it the super clean appearance that Jongdae’s mother never bothered to try for. It smelled, he had to admit, divine.

“I had absolutely no idea that you could cook,” he admitted while eyeing the pot. Junmyeon had it on a simmer and was searching through the kitchen cupboards frantically, opening and closing the doors haphazardly.

“It needs more salt,” he was muttering under his breath, “but where did I put the salt?” Then, to Jongdae, “sit down, I’ll bring it over.”

Jongdae did as he was told, grabbing two spoons and clearing some of the clutter off the table. He glanced at Junmyeon’s notes and wasn’t at all surprised to see a messily scribbled price list. He had never really known what Junmyeon did for a living or who he worked for, but he knew it had something to do with numbers. Bookkeeping, probably.

“I took some lessons from your mother to pass the time,” Junmyeon answered Jongdae’s earlier question as he carefully brought over two bowls, “it was fun. Got to help her out in the process, which felt good.” He set his place to Jongdae’s right, closest to the door.

“Oh, sure. Yeah. Guess it was very helpful.”

Junmyeon picked up his spoon. “She seemed to appreciate it.”

They ate in silence, though it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable; they had been friends for years, after all, ever since Junmyeon was seven and Jongdae was six. Long before Junmyeon had moved into their home, Jongdae’s parents had called him ‘son’. That was undeniably one of the reasons why Jongdae couldn’t bring himself to say a word.

He had put off thinking about it - ‘it’ being his and Junmyeon’s relationship - for years, and had managed pretty well until the last year of his high school. Then, it all became too much. The town became too oppressive, his exams became too stressful, and Junmyeon became too irresistible.

It was one thing growing up with someone side by side and watching them mature along with you, it was slightly different when everyone knew them as your brother. Jongdae, if he was being honest, had actually been completely fine with it for years as well. Then, Junmyeon moved in.

Jongdae kind of knew that it would happen sooner or later - Junmyeon’s childhood consisted of him being shifted from one distant family member to another (most of them lived roughly in the same area so at least there was _some_ sense of stability) - but he hadn’t really calculated the _impact_ that it would have. Having Junmyeon always by his side was just not something he could handle.

So he ran away. He didn’t tell anyone that he was preparing for a university scholarship, just holed himself up in the library and worked his ass off to pass the entrance exam. Only after receiving his acceptance letter did he announce to everyone that he would be leaving. Junmyeon had looked so sad back then.

***

Without meaning to, Jongdae fell asleep. He only realised this when he woke up from his impromptu nap with a crick in his neck and a sore shoulder from his awkwardly stretched out arm. The sky outside had darkened and he could make out a few stars from between his half-opened orange curtains. Junmyeon must have come in at some point while he was sleeping because the window was cracked open and there was a soft throw over Jongdae’s tightly coiled up body. He forced his muscles to relax and lay on his back, staring at the bumps in the ceiling paint.

Even though it was early evening, it was still quiet. Jongdae missed the sounds of the city, longed to lose himself in the never-ending bustle of it all.

The mattress was hard, much less comfortable than his university dorm one, and the throw was not enough to protect him from the cool air seeping into his room. Despite this, it still took a few moments for Jongdae to push himself into action.

Just as he was about to yank the window closed, a familiar figure on a bike crested the hill and made their way steadily up to their house. By the front door, they stopped and hopped easily off their bike.

“Delivery!” a bright voice called and a few moments later, Jongdae heard the sound of the front door being pushed open. Junmyeon, still in his red tee and dark blue jeans, stepped out onto the porch. The porch light doused the visitor in a dim golden glow.

“I brought over those paints you wanted,” Yixing said in his softly-accented Korean, “it took a while to get ahold of the right ones but I managed to find someone who could send them quickly through Daejeon. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Jongdae heard Junmyeon reply softly and watched as he peeked into the bag that had been hanging off of Yixing’s handlebars. There was another wrapped package secured onto the carrier at the back which Yixing made no move to retrieve, so Jongdae assumed it was for someone else. “This is perfect, thank you.”

“I heard Jongdae’s back,” Yixing said while passing over the bag, “but I’ll ask for the details later if that’s alright. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course.” Junmyeon handed over a few notes which Yixing tucked into the front pocket of his short-sleeved polo shirt.

“Well then.” He hopped back onto the bike and pedalled off, floating past Jongdae’s window and further up the hill. Junmyeon remained on the porch for a long while, craning his head up to look at the stars. Even from the window Jongdae could see that they looked beautiful, and a part of him wished he could join Junmyeon out there, under their naked brightness. He remained where he was though, watching Junmyeon who was watching the stars.

***

Jongdae pretended to be asleep when Junmyeon came to wake him, carrying a gently steaming mug of tea and a few crackers.

“The evenings get cold up here,” he said in lieu of an explanation, “so I brought these in case you wanted them.”

“Thanks,” Jongdae replied hoarsely.

“Your mother said to come at eight but it’s not a long walk from here. I was thinking we could set off in about ten minutes.” Junmyeon’s fussing, somehow, didn’t get old. Jongdae couldn’t explain why he let Junmyeon mother him as much as he did or why exactly he enjoyed it (usually Jongdae couldn’t stand other people’s hovering) but he left Junmyeon to it and basked in the attention.

“That’s fine,” he said while picking up the mug and taking a sip. Ginseng tea - he hadn’t had any for years.

They ended up setting out a bit late (Jongdae couldn’t find a jacket to wear and Junmyeon couldn’t seem to figure out one of his equations for the longest time) but as Junmyeon had said, it wasn’t a long walk. The sun had seemingly only set recently, because a light pink glow was still settled over the horizon and peeking out from behind the hills of their landscape.

“They moved to be closer to your dad’s work,” Junmyeon explained as they stepped into an empty side street, “his knees were aching too much to make the long walk.” Jongdae, who knew very little about his father’s job, stayed quiet.

“And it’s closer to Jongin’s school too, so sometimes he stays there before heading out on his shift.” Jongdae was too embarrassed to ask about what Junmyeon meant. It was one thing not knowing much about the parents that he had never felt particularly close to, it was a whole other thing when he barely knew his own brother. For the longest time, Jongdae and Jongin were inseparable. Then, Junmyeon moved in.

***

Jongdae’s parents greeted him warmly enough, with open arms and genuine smiles. The atmosphere was still a bit awkward but he was glad that they weren’t trying to cover it up with useless chatter and instead let everything settle slowly into place.

“Jongin’s just finishing his shift,” Jongdae’s mother said while ushering him and Junmyeon over to the set table, “he’ll come by as soon as he’s done.”

Jongdae sat beside Junmyeon and opposite his father, while his mother continued to flutter around the kitchen.

“How are your knees?” he asked and felt Junmyeon nudge encouragingly against his shoulder.

His father smiled. “A lot better now. How is Seoul?” A pot clattered loudly in the kitchen and everybody struggled to not acknowledge it.

“I’m enjoying it a lot,” Jongdae replied carefully, “it’s the right place for me.”

“You did well getting that scholarship,” Jongdae’s mother floated over with a tray of rice and side dishes which she unloaded easily onto the table. Jongdae’s father and Junmyeon gave an affirmative hum.

It wasn’t too painful, Jongdae found, sitting at the table with his parents. Junmyeon did enough speaking for the both of them so Jongdae could just stay quiet and focus on finishing off his _budae jjigae_ while getting a quick rundown of what he had missed while he had been away. Apparently, Junmyeon had flitted between several publishing companies for a while and had settled, about half a year ago, on some big-shot name that happened to have branches outside of Seoul. He liked it well enough but was usually delegated all of the boring jobs such as budgeting (so Jongdae hadn’t been too far off with the bookkeeping).

His parents still did the same as always which was, he found out, managing a small grocery store. How he had missed the fact that his parents owned a whole business (no matter how small) he would never know. His mother had taken the whole day off to prepare for his arrival which was why his father had to return late on his own.

Just as the conversation began to shift to Jongin, the boy himself arrived. He had changed a lot since Jongdae had last seen him (three years ago, he had to remind himself), and had grown out of the childlike radiance he once possessed. He was still far from being an adult of course, but there was no doubting that he was well on his way to becoming one.

He was wearing white polo shirt with some company logo embroidered on the front and khaki slacks. His satchel matched the colour of his socks, which were black. His school blazer was thrown over the strap and tucked against his side. The outfit, overall, looked rather tasteless.

“Hyung!” he shouted when he saw Jongdae and launched into a hug, jumping up and down with excitement. He was taller than Jongdae now, and his arms easily wrapped around him. He was also the first person who had seemed _happy_ to see him again, which he hadn’t realised he desired quite so badly. When Jongin sat himself down where Junmyeon had been before, Jongdae found it to be a relief.

The atmosphere lifted as soon as Jongin joined, his family chatting happily and boisterously around him as if he wasn’t even there. Occasionally, someone directed a question his way but his answer, if he even bothered to give one, was glossed over fairly quickly. He was sinking, Jongdae thought, into the stagnant swamp of the town again.

***

After a while, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m going for a smoke,” he muttered to his empty bowl and stood from the table. On his way out of the door, he rummaged through his jacket pocket for a lighter and pack of cigarettes. Nobody questioned what he was doing or where he was going but Junmyeon did send him a worried glance before he opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch.

It was nearing ten in the evening and the sky was completely dark, with no hint of even the sun’s existence. The stars, however, shone brighter than before, their cold light bearing down on Jongdae more than making him feel free. Somewhere, an owl hooted.

He lit his cigarette but just as he was about to take the first drag, the door behind him opened with a clatter. He jumped, coughing up the accidental smoke he inhaled. It was Jongin, with a denim jacket thrown over his polo shirt-khaki pants ensemble.

“Hey hyung,” he said conversationally, then lit his own cigarette. Jongdae narrowed his eyes.

“Since when do you smoke?”

“Since when have you cared?” Jongin’s eyes were warmer than the stars, but still cold. “Maybe I’ve been smoking for five years already.” He exhaled and a trickle of smoke crawled up towards the cloudless sky.

Jongdae couldn’t refute that. “I’ve not been a very good brother,” he said instead. Jongin’s eyes hardened a little bit.

“What’s the point in saying it if it means nothing?” he challenged suddenly, “It’s not even like you’re _admitting_ something. You’re just stating it. You _know_ you’re not a very good brother. Alright. But hearing ‘I’m not a very good brother, Jongin, but do with that what you will’ kind of sucks. That’s the kind of impression I’m getting from all of this, hyung.”

Jongdae began to feel the prickle of frustration, both at the suddenness of the attack and the truth that he knew it held. “Well, what am I meant to do? Apologise?”

“I mean, you could do, for a start,” Jongin glowered back. He had never been so confrontational before. He seemed ruffled rather than angry, but it didn’t really make Jongdae feel any better.

“You were all over me about half an hour ago,” he spat, “what have I done in the past thirty minutes to so greatly offend you, huh, Kim Jongin?”

Jongin didn’t say anything, eyes shuttered. It didn’t look like he was looking for a fight anymore, and more like he had accidentally spilled everything that had been on his mind since Jongdae had left. _He shouldn’t have had to shoulder that burden,_ Jongdae thought angrily _, not because of me._

“Alright, fine,” he threw his unfinished cigarette into the ground and stomped it out, “I’m sorry. Tell Junmyeon I went home.”

With that, he started back up the hill, guilt and anger running like led through his veins.

***

“How long has Jongin been smoking?” Jongdae asked as soon as Junmyeon stumbled through the door. He looked a little frazzled and had Jongdae’s coat thrown over his thin shirt.

“Huh?” he hung up the jacket carefully and then flopped onto the couch, feet hanging off the edge and nearly in Jongdae’s face. “Jongin smokes?” Jongdae instantly felt a bit better.

“Apparently.” he didn’t really have anything else to add to that. He continued his sketch of the skyline he had seen before. Ideally, he would be working with acrylic paints, but he hadn’t been able to find them when unpacking earlier and was too tired to go search again.

“If you dig around in the bag next to the bookshelf you’ll find a welcome present,” Junmyeon said into the couch pillow, “I decided to leave it until now in case dinner with your parents was rough.”

“What am I looking for?” Jongdae asked as he pulled over Junmyeon’s heavy tote bag. Something inside crinkled with the movement.

“The stuff that’s wrapped, Jongdae,” Junmyeon said with a hint of exasperation, “the _present._ ”

Jongdae rooted around and pulled out a black plastic bag, wrapped several times around what felt like a slim box.

“You look like you’ll need acrylic for what you’re working on now though, I’m sorry…” Junmyeon had sat up and was rubbing the back of his neck anxiously, waiting for Jongdae to open his gift. He did so, carefully.

It was a Winsor & Newton Cotman Watercolours set, the one with twenty-four colours and the palette on the side. Jongdae assumed that it had been delivered earlier by Yixing. It was brand new, unopened, with a small slip of paper tucked into the wrapping. _‘What did the artist draw before he went to bed? The curtains!’_

“That’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard,” Jongdae groaned.

“Firstly, it’s an excellent joke,” Junmyeon immediately countered, “secondly, you didn’t hear it. You read it.” Jongdae had very little to say to that.

“Thanks,” he said to the box. Behind him, Junmyeon gave a pleased hum.

“Well I’m glad you like them. Now go to bed, you can do your angsty artist brooding in the morning.”

“Sure,” Jongdae said because it wasn’t something worth fighting about. “Sleep well. Goodnight.” He wrapped the watercolours back in the bag and took them with him to his bedroom. The door clicked softly shut behind him.

Jongdae was a creature of habit, and going to sleep at half past ten in the evening had never been part of his routine. Even while he had been sharing a room with Jongin, he had snuck a light under his covers to read while the younger slept, clocking out at around two or three in the morning. He had never followed any different routine.

So he sat at the desk in front of the window, gaudy orange curtains pushed way _way_ back where he couldn’t see them, and painted. Sure, he had been planning on working with acrylic but watercolour was excellent for sunset views anyway, and Junmyeon would be pleased to see that he was utilising his gift right away. He listened to the radio while he worked, tuning into whatever late night show he could catch. There was a bit of static but overall, it was bearable. He didn’t have a particular album that he listened to while he worked, but he did occasionally slip in a Bach or Brahms cassette if he felt like it.

Baekhyun had laughed and called it a ‘small town thing’, but Jongdae didn’t really think it was linked to that at all. His town sucked and was out of stride with the rest of reality, but that didn’t mean that he walked along with it. He had his own pace, his own rhythm, and he hoped that one day he would find someone who would walk along next to him.

***

The first layer of paint was dry when he woke up, at about one in the afternoon. He was surprised that Junmyeon hadn’t woken him up earlier but took it in stride, heading over to his desk to give his work a critical once-over and dive right back into painting. He worked like that when he was inspired - from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning to the moment he closed them to go to sleep late in the evening.

He had just mixed the perfect indigo to work with when a knock on the door interrupted his rhythm.

“Sorry, I heard you shuffling about,” Junmyeon said through the door, “I left breakfast for you on the table. Please eat soon.”

Jongdae rinsed off his brush and balanced it over his jar. “Wait, isn’t it Monday? Why aren’t you at work?”

“Lunch break, Jongdae,” Junmyeon scolded gently through the door. A moment later, Jongdae heard his light footsteps disappearing down the hallway and then, after a while, some clattering from the kitchen.

He fought against himself for a few moments - should he just continue working and pick up the food later or make an effort and join Junmyeon at the table while he was eating lunch? Eventually, he uncurled his spine and stood (he’d always had the worst painting posture of any of his classmates), stretching his cramped muscles. Weirdly enough, he found out that he could sit like that for ten minutes or for ten hours and his body would hurt the same, so it made no difference really. Baekhyun called him a sloth. He also said that Jongdae totally had the mental capacity of someone who would grab onto their own arm mistaking it for a branch and end up falling out of a tree.

Junmyeon looked up from his food when Jongdae entered the living room, empty chopsticks paused over his bowl. A book was propped open beside him and when Jongde peered over, he was surprised to see that it was written in English.

“What’s for breakfast?” he asked, sitting down. Junmyeon finished chewing and closed the book. The cover of the book was purple, and said _What We Talk About When We Talk About Love._

“It’s right in front of you,” he gestured with his chopsticks, then resumed his eating. He was colder than the day before and Jongdae regarded him for a few moments, eyes narrowed. It always took a bit of guesswork to figure Junmyeon out, and most of the time Jongdae couldn’t be bothered to put in the effort. But on some days, when he felt that he had the energy, he enjoyed giving it a try.

“I didn’t know you read stuff like that,” Jongdae tried while pulling his own bowl closer.

“Not often,” Junmyeon admitted, “but sometimes. When I feel like it.”

“I always thought that was more Kyungsoo’s thing than yours.”

“Have you given him a call yet?” Junmyeon finished off his noodles with a slurp. “Let him know you’re home?” _Home._ Jongdae shuddered. Wordlessly, Junmyeon pulled over the telephone, stretching the cord so that it could sit right by Jongdae’s elbow. With that message conveyed, he grabbed his book and stood, leaving his bowl on the table.

“Back to work?” Jongdae asked.

“Yup,” Junmyeon grabbed Jongdae’s jacket and stepped into his black shoes. He was out of the door before Jongdae could complain.

***

Jongdae didn’t call Kyungsoo that afternoon, and busied himself with cleaning his room a little bit and finishing off the next part of his painting. For some reason, he didn’t really feel like rushing it. With a few more layers of the sky done, he left it to dry by the window, making sure the orange curtains were tied down tightly so as not to smudge the paint.

He took his clothes to the bathroom to give them a good wash and rid them of the smell of his suitcase, then ventured outside to hang them up to dry. He took down some of Jongin and Junmyeon’s dry laundry to make room, folding it up and heading over to their room.

Unsurprisingly, it hadn’t changed since the last time that Jongdae had seen it - Jongin was happy to keep things untouched and carve out a little space for himself quietly. There were two new posters that weren’t there before (one from last year’s Olympics and one of a band that Jongdae didn’t recognise) but that was about it. A geometry textbook lay open on Jongin’s mattress _._ Junmyeon, meanwhile, had tidied his bed away and his duvet lay folded neatly in the corner. Jongdae knew better than to assume that Junmyeon was a neat person, but he guessed that the elder had never felt fully comfortable in their home.

He didn’t bother rooting through their closet, just dropped the folded clothes in two piles on top of Jongin’s book and left the room.

***

At about seven-thirty, the same time as the day before, Yixing came pedalling up the hill. Jongdae had just flipped _Alone in Front of the Yard_ over from the A-side and was ready to settle back into painting when he saw the lonely figure outside his window. Without thinking too much about it, he set his paintbrush aside and pushed back the curtains.

“Hi,” he called, perching on the windowsill and gripping the window frame so that he could lean out and talk. Yixing immediately came to a stop and waddled over, feet pushing off the ground.

“Hey, Jongdae!” He greeted back, just as amiably. There were several plastic bags hanging from his handlebars and a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He was wearing the same polo shirt as the day before. “Were you waiting for an order? I’m sorry, I have nothing for you today.”

“No no,” Jongdae put all of his efforts into making a smooth conversation, “just wanted to say hello.”

“Oh,” Yixing smiled pleasantly, “hi. Is it nice being back? Junmyeon has been excited for ages.”

“Yeah, it’s nice. I loved his present. Thanks for bringing it over.”

“No problem,” Yixing’s smile remained pleasant but somehow distant. “Well, I need to go. Still have to drop by Kyungsoo’s. Have you called him yet?”

Jongdae swallowed guiltily. “Uh, no. Not yet. I’ll...I’ll get to it.”

“Oh, well,” Yixing propped one foot back on a pedal, “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear from you. It’s nice to have you back though, I hope you can stay for a while this time.” With that, he pushed off and sailed off up the hill. Jongdae watched him go, then shut the window.

***

Junmyeon came home at a quarter to eight, thankfully still wearing Jongdae’s jacket. He dropped his bag by the door and flopped onto the sofa, face down like the day before. It was the way the town ran: a well-oiled machine where even the most benign details were on an endless loop, day in day out.

“Why’s everyone suddenly telling me to phone Kyungsoo?” Jongdae propped an elbow up on the table and rested his chin on his palm.

“Oh, his second kid was born last week,” Junmyeon said calmly into the couch cushions. “You’re a bit late to the party but I’m sure he’ll appreciate a congratulations either way.”

Jongdae’s elbow dropped off the table. “What.”

“With Choi Aeri, the girl from school. Remember her?”

“Choi Aeri, Class President,” Jongdae said emptily, “I remember.” What he didn’t remember though, was when she and Kyungsoo had become an actual couple. The last he remembered was Kyungsoo’s pitiful pining, long confession letters that were never passed over, and half-written songs composed with Chanyeol.

“They got married straight out of school, the month after graduation. He was going to invite you to the wedding but…” Junmyeon trailed off for both their sake.

“I’m gonna…” Jongdae unplugged the phone from the wall, “I’m gonna take this with me.” In a trance, he padded over to his room and shut the door.

***

Kyungsoo answered after four rings. “Hello,” he said blandly, like he always did.

“Hi,” Jongdae choked out, sitting cross-legged on top of his desk and staring out of the window, “it’s me. Uh, Jongdae.”

“Hello Jongdae,” Kyungsoo said. It was loud on his end of the line and Jongdae really didn’t want to keep him long.

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” For a moment, Kyungsoo’s voice became muffled (Jongdae assumed he had put his hand over the receiver) as he said, “‘Soo, go to your mom, dad’s busy.” Then, to Jongdae, “I’ll need to go soon.”

“No yeah I understand,” Jongdae rushed to clarify, “I’ll see you around?”

“Maybe,” Kyungsoo said, “I’m quite busy these days. We’ll see.” He didn’t make an offer for Jongdae to visit.

“Alright, well. Bye, then.”

After a pause, Kyungsoo’s voice floated down the line, quiet in a way that Jongdae knew was shyness. “It’s nice to have you back, hyung. Goodnight.” He dropped the call before Jongdae could reply.

He battled the receiver back into its cradle (that damn crack) and stared out of the window, trying to figure out what kind of conversation he had just had. Evengh they hadn’t been speaking for a long time, the sun had fully hidden behind the horizon and had left only a soft peachy hue in its wake. Should he have painted the sky that colour instead, Jongdae wondered.

***

A soft knock on the door startled Jongdae enough to draw him out of his thoughts. Outside, the sky was completely black and his forlorn reflection stared back at him from the window. Dejected, he pulled the gaudy orange curtains closed.

“You don’t need to knock,” he spun around and rested his feet on the desk chair, back to the outside world.

Junmyeon popped his head around the door, smiling softly. “But still,” he said, “it’s only polite.” He was wearing a green knitted sweater that looked too thick for the weather. “How did it go with Kyungsoo?”

“It was strange,” Jongdae admitted, watching as Junmyeon made himself comfortable on the bed. It was the only bed in the house, and had always belonged to his parents. After sleeping on it for one night, he had no idea how they had managed for over thirty years.

“He’s tired, ‘Dae,” Junmyeon assured, “he has one more mouth to feed now. Don’t worry too much about it. Let’s grab Chanyeol and drop by sometime. His kids love Uncle ’Yeol.”

“Emotional human shield in the form of Chanyeol,” Jongdae laughed tiredly. It sounded a bit strained.

“You have to admit, it’s foolproof.”

“I still feel like such an outsider,” Jongdae admitted to his hands. Junmyeon sprawled out on the bed, heaving a deep sigh. “Like I’m back but everyone thinks I’m different now. I mean, I know the world doesn’t revolve around me - you, like, have your own lives and ambitions and stuff - but I just wish. I just,” he took a deep breath, “I wish you didn’t look at me differently.”

“We’re glad to have you back, Jongdae,” Junmyeon assured.

“I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t-” Jongdae choked on his breath. “It just feels weird.”

“You know,” Junmyeon said, “when you make a phone call, sometimes the connection is bad. It’s either on your end, or on their end, or somewhere in between. I think, Jongdae, that the connection is bad on your end this time.”

“What do I do?” Jongdae didn’t dare look up.

“Hang up. Dial again. It’s not as complicated as you think it is.” Junmyeon rolled over onto his stomach and shoved Jongdae’s pillow under his cheek. “Man, this bed is comfy, I miss it. Let me crash here for a while.”

Jongdae spent another few hours finishing off his painting, adding some ink outlining because he felt like it and squeezing in a signature. He left it all to dry, satisfied with the outcome.

Junmyeon was still passed out on the bed so, quietly, Jongdae pulled the quilt out from under him and tucked him in, making sure that there were no gaps that the cooling night air could seep through. With that done, he grabbed his pyjamas and left, flicking the light off quietly.

***

As he lay in the darkness, Jongdae thought of Kyungsoo. Thought of their whole group of friends, really. They had grown up together, in the same neighbourhood, with their parents as friends. He had gone to school with them, their parents had exchanged food every day. Junmyeon hadn’t always been in the picture but Kyungsoo had, and so had Chanyeol. So had Baekhyun, Yixing, and Minseok. So had their sisters. So why? Why was it Junmyeon? Why did it _have_ to be him?

Jongdae was a simple man, really. He saw Kyungsoo’s life and he envied it. He wasn’t ready for it yet but he wanted it, longed for his future to look like that. A steady income, a wife, kids. A family. Hopefully he would be a better parent than his father but, if not, that was okay too. Everyone made mistakes.

But Junmyeon made him want to _try._ He wanted to reach further than ever before, wanted to keep studying, working, learning just so that he could be successful and enjoy what he was doing. Junmyeon inspired him to do things he had never considered doing before. Including running away. But for what? He had come back, inevitably (he had always known it would be inevitable, hadn’t he?) and all he had achieved was losing everyone around him. He hadn’t even gained Junmyeon in the process. Stupid.

_Hang up the phone,_ Junmyeon had said, _dial again._ Alright, Jongdae thought sleepily, he would try again.

***

He slept fitfully and woke to the sounds of Junmyeon getting ready for work in the morning. Together, they sat across from each other and blearily ate breakfast.

“Are my parents hiring?” Jongdae asked, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes. Across from him, Junmyeon was dressed in a white dress shirt and grey slacks. Jongdae didn’t know how long his commute to work took.

“Yeah, probably,” Junmyeon replied, “Jongin helps them out when it’s school break, but they’ve got nobody right now.” Jongdae didn’t let any irritation show in his face.

“How long does it take for you to get to work?” he asked instead.

“About forty minutes if it’s not too busy. It’s just a train ride away and I always catch the eight-thirty. They come by every half hour at our local station, you know where it is,” he gestured vaguely with his spoon. “It’s not too stressful, but it’s a problem if I miss it.” After a moment’s thought, Junmyeon added, “why?”

“So when do you arrive home? It seems quite late.”

“Yeah, there’s no set time for me really,” Junmyeon glanced at the clock on the wall and winced, “I guess we’ll find out when I’m back today.” Just as he was throwing on his navy overcoat, he said, “it’s a good idea you have, working with your parents. They’ll be happy.”

“If they take me,” Jongdae half-joked.

“They will!” the door slammed shut.

***

Jongdae gave his painting a brief once-over (it was definitely done, no more touches to be added), quickly washed up, and threw on a semi-formal outfit. Even though it was his parents he was going to, a job interview was a job interview and he wanted to look the part.

He stole a pressed shirt from Junmyeon’s closet but forewent the slacks; it wouldn’t really matter if he showed up in jeans. After some deliberation, he grabbed Junmyeon’s brown pea coat and threw that on as well. Keys, wallet, Walkman, and he was out of the door.

He listened to the B-side of Kim Wansun’s _Tonight_ as he walked, picking up where he left off a few days ago. He wasn’t her biggest fan and it wasn’t even her latest album (that was _Feel Good Day_ which was released earlier that year) but he liked to listen on occasion, mostly when he felt nervous.

He stepped through the door at eight-thirty, just as Junmyeon’s train probably arrived at the platform. His dad was at the counter, leafing through the day’s newspaper. He looked up as Jongdae entered, then folded the paper.

“Son,” he said amiably, with a hint of surprise.

“I want to work here,” Jongdae said without preamble, “help you out a little bit.” Something in his father’s smile relaxed (he hadn’t realised it was guarded to begin with) and he beckoned him closer, tucking the folded newspaper under the counter.

“Do you want some goldfish bread?”

“What?” Jongdae halted in his tracks.

“Goldfish bread,” his father said, reaching under the counter again, “I bought some on the way to work.” His hand emerged with a small bag, which he dropped down onto the wooden surface between them. “It’s good, try some. I’ve been nibbling on it all morning.”

“It’s only been half an hour since you opened shop,” Jongdae smiled but moved closer, tentatively reaching out. His father rustled around in the bag and handed over a large piece. Jongdae couldn’t remember when the last time he ate goldfish bread was. He had loved it as a kid so much, so how could he have possibly forgotten about it?

“It’s always slow in the mornings,” his father whispered, as if divulging a huge secret. “Gives me time to look over the paper though. There’s a fascinating story about a man from the States this time around, do you want to read it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jongdae waited for his father to finish the last bite of his food and pass over the paper.

“Page seven,” he said while hiding the bag of goldfish cakes again, “you’ll know when you see it. Watch the door while you’re at it, I’ll be in the back room if you need me.”

On a muggy Tuesday morning, Jongdae started work.

***

Baekhyun dropped by just as lunchtime rolled around, wearing his standard denim-jacket-over-denim-shirt combination. Jongdae was oddly relieved to see that his stylistic choices hadn’t changed in the three years that had passed.

“Time to eat, loser,” Baekhyun said to Jongdae, then yelled, “Mr Kim! I’m taking your son out for lunch!”

“Buy your mother some fresh lettuce from us when you bring him back,” Jongdae’s father yelled in response.

Baekhyun took him to a diner that he had never been to before, around the corner from the library. Junmyeon was waiting for them at the table already, a steaming bowl of _jajangmyeon_ before him. He looked slightly more ruffled than in the morning, with his sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm and top few buttons undone. Jongdae wondered why he even bothered to make the long commute back just to have lunch.

“He usually stays at work to eat,” Baekhyun explained as if reading his mind, “but these last few days...hm. I’d say his whole routine has suddenly changed.” Easily, he slid in opposite Junmyeon and dropped his backpack onto the leather bench seat beside him. Jongdae had no choice but to settle in beside Junmyeon.

“How was the journey?” he asked awkwardly and watched Baekhyun choke on a laugh.

“Busy,” Junmyeon groaned through a mouthful of noodle, “I guess everyone’s still excited about Lotto World.”

“Oh that’s right,” Baekhyun planted his elbows on the table and leaned in, “you were close to that when it opened, Jongdae. What was it like? Did you go?”

There was a brief pause as the waitress stopped by their table to take their orders, then Baekhyun leant closer again. “Well? Did you?”

“I went to Seoul to study,” Jongdae reminded him just as Junmyeon cut in with, “-Oh leave him alone, Byun.”

Dejected, Baekhyun relaxed back in his seat and blew a raspberry. “Pfft, you’re no fun.”

“Where’s Chanyeol anyway?” Junmyeon continued, “you’re always attached at the hip. Would have been a good opportunity to re-introduce Jongdae.” He didn’t look up at either of them as he spoke, but Jongdae felt the sting of the words anyway. Junmyeon’s tone seemed almost bitter.

“Just because we super platonically hang out a lot, doesn’t mean that I know where he is at all times,” Baekhyun reasoned with a warning glint in his eye.

“Sure,” Junmyeon said. Jongdae had only a rough idea of where the conversation was going, and didn’t really know what to do or how to feel about it. Junmyeon, on the other hand, seemed completely relaxed, methodically working through his portion.

“‘Sure’ what, hyung?” Baekhyun tucked into his own food, mixing in the sauce angrily. “Why is it that you love Chanyeol and I separately but can’t stand the thought of us even being mentioned in the same sentence?”

“That’s not what I’m on about at all,” Junmyeon finished off his last bite, then wiped away some sauce at the corner of his mouth. In an abrupt movement, he swiped up his coat and messenger bag, then gestured impatiently for Jongdae to give him space to shuffle past.

Baekhyun chewed obnoxiously, then threw down his chopsticks. “Know when it’s not your call, _hyungnim,_ ” he warned pointedly. Junmyeon just squeezed through the limited space between Jongdae’s knees and the table and left without a backwards glance.

To Jongdae he said, “don’t worry about it, he’s just jealous. Eat up.”

“Jealous?” Jongdae mused, “of what?”

“Or of who?” the line of Baekhyun’s shoulders was deceptively relaxed. He picked up his cutlery and slowly started to eat again.

“Of you and Chanyeol?” Jongdae made a guess. Baekhyun snorted unattractively.

“I mean, yeah. But he doesn’t _know_ he’s jealous, you get me? He’s just annoyed that he’s feeling something bad and can’t figure out what it is.”

“But he has close friends, doesn’t he?”

“He did and then he didn’t,” Baekhyun said cryptically, “and I guess now he does again. For a while.” Jongdae was too tired to unpack all of that. “Until you leave again,” Baekhyun clarified, sharply but not necessarily unkindly. Jongdae didn’t say anything to that.

They didn’t brush on the topic again, and Jongdae wasn’t really in the mood to prod any further, so they seamlessly slipped into something lighter - baseball, TV shows, concerts. Baekhyun and Chanyeol had gone to see a movie recently - something about Buddhism that Jongdae wasn’t really interested in - and apparently it had been pretty good. They had screened it at the 42nd Cannes Film Festival, Baekhyun said. Supposedly, that made it a very big deal.

Baekhyun walked him back to the store after they ate and dutifully purchased not only some lettuce but an apple as well, just to appease Jongdae’s father. With that, he was off, dancing away in his dirty Nike trainers to a song only he could hear.

***

Jongdae listened to _I Hate That Person_ as he walked home, rewinding it to the start of the track every time it ended. It wasn’t that the lyrics particularly mattered to him or anything, it was mostly just the kind of beat that he enjoyed. It was the perfect amount of distracting to stop him from thinking too much about what had happened during the day.

He knew that there was no way that Junmyeon would be at home when he got back but his heart still sank a little when he saw that there was no navy overcoat hanging up by the door. Jongin wasn’t at home either so he took the chance to dust off the old turntable in the corner of the lounge and rummage through the collection of records that Junmyeon had stacked up by the side (he may as well live loudly, right?)

He was completely unsurprised to see that it was comprised of mainly Western artists, and settled on _Billie Jean_ which was near the top. He pictured Junmyeon dancing to it secretly while preparing dinner and had to work hard to suppress a smile.

He wanted to cheer Junmyeon up somehow, after the awkward lunch they’d had earlier. Baekhyun and Junmyeon often bickered but it had never been about Chanyeol, and it had never been that unpleasant. Without even knowing the context, Jongdae could tell when the elders’ claws were out and hackles were raised.

Just as he’d set the table for an early dinner, the phone rang. It was still in his room and as he rushed to answer it, he almost tripped over Junmyeon’s green sweater from the night before. Cursing, he ducked to pick it up and throw it haphazardly onto the unmade bed.

Surprisingly it was Junmyeon, voice tired but not necessarily upset (Jongdae knew him well enough to discern between the two).

“Have you eaten already?” he asked.

“No, not yet.” Jongdae didn’t tell him about the food that was waiting for both of them on the table.

“I’m at the station, do you remember where that is?”

“Yeah,” Jongdae replied simply.

“Come walk me home.” He hung up.

***

Just because Jongdae knew where the station was didn’t mean that he knew where _Junmyeon_ was and it took a bit of wandering and standing around for him to locate the elder, shoulders hunched under his navy overcoat as he leant against the side of the payphone. His bag was slung over his shoulder and he was digging through it lazily, flipping between notebooks and odd sheets of paperwork. At the last moment, Jongdae saw the unlit cigarette between his lips.

“Nasty habit, hyung,” he said while flicking open his lighter and shielding the small flame from the breeze. Junmyeon looked up in surprise and quickly plucked the cigarette from his mouth, shoving it back into his pocket. His bag remained open and Jongdae reached over to flip it shut, tucking away the edges of a few pages before securing the clasp. His lighter went back into his pocket.

“Very rare, I assure you.” The line of Junmyeon’s shoulders was tense and he didn’t wait for Jongdae to catch up as he took off in the direction of their house. Jongdae trotted after, somewhat confused at the elder’s attitude.

“You wanted me to walk you home but you won’t even wait for me,” he whined. Junmyeon just laughed, turning sharply on his heel and waiting for Jongdae to catch up.

“Alright,” he passed over his heavy bag when Jongdae was close enough, “carry this for me then. How was your day?”

It was weird, because even though Jongdae had seen Junmyeon only a few hours ago, he was still excited to be in his presence again, walking up a boring road and surrounded by boring faces that he would probably never see again. Junmyeon stood out among the passersby without even trying, though Jongdae couldn’t really explain how. He was more radiant, somehow, more _present._ He wondered how the elder had kept that energy alive while living in such a dull place.

They ate Jongdae’s prepared meal together, knees touching and elbows jostling. It had gone cold while Jongdae had been out chaperoning and Junmyeon had grumbled but warmed it up on the gas stove nonetheless.

“You could have just _told_ me,” he muttered, “communication is easy, Jongdae.”

“Is it?” Jongdae leant his chin in his palm and watched Junmyeon putter around the kitchen. When the elder noticed _Billie Jean_ on the turntable, he laughed.

“Did you dance to it?”

“Yeah,” Jongdae admitted shamelessly.

“Me too,” Junmyeon agreed, “I think it’s impossible not to.”

They loitered in the living room after that, Junmyeon hunched over some papers and Jongdae spread out on the couch, flipping through a book. It was the one that Junmyeon had been reading earlier and even though it was in English, Jongdae was proud to admit that he understood a fair bit. It wasn’t quite his choice of reading material but the fact that Junmyeon had read it - had touched the same pages and had glanced over the same words - made it worth it.

There was something so intimate about reading a book that someone else had already read before you, Jongdae realised at that moment. The quiet sounds of the pages, the way they felt under his fingertips. The way his tongue moved when he mouthed words that he didn’t quite recognise or understand. Some had been underlined and he thought of Junmyeon’s hand - his skin - brushing against the paper as he made his notes. The book smelled musty but underneath all of that, underneath the heavy scent of bookshelves and leather, was the distinct presence of Junmyeon’s soft cologne.

Junmyeon sighed deeply as he flipped a page, the rustle of it drawing Jongdae from his deep musings.

He took a deep breath. “I like you, hyung,” he said.

***

“I like you too, ‘Dae,” Junmyeon replied tiredly while adding another unintelligible scribble onto the page in front of him. The end of his pen was gnawed down and his shoulders were slumped under his cable knit vest (it was hideous, Jongdae wanted it gone). Though his heart was rattling in his ribcage, Jongdae didn’t know whether to prod further or not. When Junmyeon didn’t say anything else, or even turn around to look at him, he decided to just let the subject go.

He finished the page he was reading, folded over the corner (he only did that when there was already a crease there, just to keep up the pretence that he and Junmyeon were reading the book _together_ ) and moved to stand.

He draped the throw over Junmyeon’s hunched shoulders as he left, maybe a bit more carelessly than he usually would.

***

_Dial again_ , Junmyeon had said and that was all well and good but Jongdae ran out of courage pretty quickly and lost motivation almost twice as fast. So the next morning, when Junmyeon knocked on his door to announce that breakfast was ready, Jongdae rolled over onto his stomach and threw a pillow over his head.

He dragged himself out of bed just before nine, tidied his room, and ate the food that Junmyeon had left for him. His parents’ shop didn’t have a uniform per se, but he still tried to avoid being sloppily dressed. He slipped _Too Lonely to Dance Alone_ into his Walkman (he hadn’t listened to that one in a long while) and set off to work.

***

At around twelve-thirty just before lunch break, a dirty white Hyundai Pony rolled to a stop at the side of the kerb. Jongdae folded up the newspaper he was reading (there were quite a few interesting articles that morning) and watched to see what would happen.

There weren’t that many cars in their neighbourhood and it had been a while since Jongdae had even seen one that new; there was only one family in the area who could afford that sort of luxury.

Sure enough, it was Chanyeol who slid out from the driver’s seat, long legs unfolding like a giraffe’s as he clambered out of the vehicle. He was wearing sunglasses and a red Hawaiian shirt. Jongdae felt the corner of his mouth twitch up in amusement at the sight.

Chanyeol held the passenger door open for Baekhyun, then they both strode into the little shop.

“Looking fresh, Kim,” said Baekhyun eyeing his outfit, “I like that.”

“The shirt is Junmyeon’s, I can tell.” Chanyeol, surprisingly, was right but Jongdae wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

“We would ask you to lunch but we already have plans,” said Baekhyun cheekily, propping one hip against the counter and leaning in close. Jongdae could see the smudges of kohl around his eyes and looked away, swallowing tightly. He imagined Junmyeon with the same shadows, pictured himself mixing the colours onto a brush and dabbing it over Junmyeon’s smooth skin. “But we got invited to a party last night and thought...hey, Jongdae might like this.”

“Even though Jongdae doesn’t like parties?” said Jongdae drily, still trying to erase the image of Junmyeon with shimmering gold streaked over his eyelids from his mind.

Chanyeol hummed noncommittally and continued browsing the small collection of magazines, mostly focusing on the few music ones they had. “Must miss seeing people though,” he tacked on in his deep voice. Jongdae couldn’t deny that.

“...Where is it?” he asked hesitantly and Baekhyun’s eyes lit up with excitement. Chanyeol, too, gave him his full attention, abandoning his search and striding the few steps over to the counter.

“We’ll pick you up tonight,” Baekhyun murmured, hand dancing over to play with the collar of Jongdae’s shirt. “You can wear Junmyeon’s clothes if you like, just make sure they don’t look like _this_.”

“You need to look _exquisite_ ,” Chanyeol emphasised, beaming. After giving Jongdae a final once-over, Chanyeol grabbed Baekhyun’s hand and practically dragged him from the store and back over to their car. Jongdae watched them bicker over who opened the door (it seemed that Chanyeol wanted to be a gentleman and Baekhyun wasn’t having any more of it) with a small smile of amusement.

Only when the Pony had rolled out of sight did Jongdae unfold his newspaper again and get back to reading.

***

“Are you going somewhere?” Junmyeon asked over the rim of his cracked mug, eyebrow cocked. He had come home earlier than usual and had tucked himself in the corner immediately with a steaming cup of tea and a stack of paperwork. He was wearing a beige dress shirt that Jongdae was sure had belonged to him at one point but he didn’t want to say anything. There was something special about Junmyeon wearing his clothes and he didn’t want the elder to get embarrassed and shuck them off when he realised.

“Yeah.” The thin snake chain that Jongdae had been trying to fasten had become tangled in his drop earring and he stood in front of the small mirror, trying to tug it free without pulling his ear along with it. Through the reflection he could see Junmyeon putting down his mug and drifting over to help, steps light on the cold floor.

“Who with?” he asked, warm breath fanning over Jongdae’s neck and cool fingers dancing over his skin. Jongdae suppressed a shudder and looked away from the reflection.

“Baekhyun and Chanyeol.”

There was a pause after that in which Junmyeon worked silently. “All done,” he whispered, then stepped away, taking his warmth with him. “Are you sure about this, ‘Dae?”

“Yeah.” The way his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth made him doubt the honesty behind his own words.

“You just call me if anything is up, okay?” Junmyeon leaned in, tilted Jongdae’s face so that they were looking at each other. He had that furrow in his brow, the one that meant he was more worried than he was letting on. “Make sure you scan for a phone box before you go in, yeah? Make sure you can find it no matter how drunk you are.” His hand was still on the side of Jongdae’s face, fingers curling under his jaw and thumb just under his chin.

“I won’t be drunk, hyung,” he stepped carefully out of the hold and busied himself with putting on his shoes.

“Actually, should I just come with you?” Junmyeon made as if to go to his room but Jongdae stopped him, grabbing onto the thin material of his shirt sleeve.

“It’s okay, hyung, really,” he tried to convince both of them, “I’ll be fine.”

“Let me at least-” the rumble of a car outside cut across whatever Junmyeon was going to say and he clicked his mouth shut, eyes hardened. Jongdae didn’t spare him a glance as he grabbed his wallet and keys, then slipped into his shoes. He ducked out of the doorway before Junmyeon could say anything else.

***

The thing was, Jongdae really hated parties. Sure, he was sociable enough and didn’t mind catching up with friends over a round of drinks, but getting lost in a throng of moving bodies all while having alcohol spilled over his new jean jacket was not his idea of a fun night. The music was too loud, the lighting was too dim, and honestly - he was too tired.

So when Baekhyun and Chanyeol lost him within five minutes of them entering the overcrowded room (and it was just that: a single room full of writhing bodies and shouted conversations), Jongdae was just about ready to head off home. There were people - men, mostly - brushing up against him and pawing at his clothes as they passed, dark eyes gleaming with mischief and something else a little bit more malicious.

Honestly, how their small town even had something like this, he didn’t know.

He loitered around the bar for a while, hoping that either Baekhyun or Chanyeol would return but it was to no avail. At some point, a petite girl with a long ponytail and shiny nails slid up to him with a drink, though he didn’t pay her that much attention. She introduced herself as Yoojin or Yejin or something of the sort, and asked whether he wanted a drink and whether she should buy him one.

Not listening to a word she was saying, Jongdae nodded. They sipped their drinks together for a while, sitting side by side on the uncomfortable barstools. It took much too long for Jongdae to realise that something wasn’t quite right, that his world was beginning to spin.

Yoojin kept talking, her words beginning to flow together like a river, but Jongdae wasn’t hearing them anymore. Everything was muffled and the only thing - the only thought - in his mind was _Junmyeon._

Nobody bothered him on the way to the phone booth (neither out of annoyance or out of concern), just let him stumble hazily past, occasionally complaining when he shoulder-checked them or ran into them altogether. It was becoming difficult to distinguish where his feet ended and the floor began.

The cool air outside grounded him a little bit but it was Junmyeon’s voice, light and concerned over the line, that finally reduced the unbearable ache in his chest.

“Hyung,” Jongdae said, choked up and scared. Someone yelled something nearby and he huddled further into the corner, clutching the receiver as close to his ear as he could, trying to convince himself that Junmyeon was right there beside him rather than a bus ride away.

“I’m coming for you,” Junmyeon replied immediately, voice unsteady but calming nonthess. “Don’t move.”

Even after the line had clicked off, Jongdae remained coiled up, head down and shoulders shaking, breathing in the musty air of the phone booth.

***

“Who the hell even does that shit anymore,” Jongdae could just about hear Junmyeon say, voice hard and angry. There was a pressure at his side - warm and welcome this time around - and suddenly Jongdae was floating, street lights becoming dancing dots across his vision. “-the fuck did I let you go alone anyway-” Jongdae could hear Junmyeon grumble but the sounds were jumbled and weird, jarring as if the words were being spoken backwards.

For a while, Jongdae lost himself in the sensation of flight and the grounding scent of Junmyeon’s cologne - some sort of deep pine scent that reminded him of forests and endless summers spent outside.

“-’m gonna _kill_ Chanyeol and Baekhyun for this I swear to-”

“Hyung,” Jongdae whispered into Junmyeon’s shoulder.

“-even leaves their friend at a party? Like-”

“Hyung.” This time, Jongdae was more firm. The floating sensation lessened somewhat as they drew to a halt, Junmyeon finally realising that he was being talked to and setting Jongdae carefully down onto a cold surface. As the younger grappled around, he realised he was on the step in front of their front door. There was a pause, then the jingling of keys, and Jongdae guessed that Junmyeon had been frantically digging through his pockets and was working on opening the door.

“What is it?” Junmyeon asked politely but firmly and suddenly he was hauling Jongdae back up again and dragging him into a place that was finally _warm._ Shaking hands worked on pulling off his shoes, then his coat. He shivered at the sudden cold. Then, just as quickly, he was warm again, harsh fibres of the couch throw tickling his chin and the back of his neck.

“Sit still while I get you some water,” Junmyeon ordered softly, tucking the edges of the throw further around Jongdae’s quivering form as he stepped away.

“Yessir,” Jongdae’s tongue was still stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Junmyeon fussed around him for a while longer, moving him over to the couch and bringing him some cool water to drink. He didn’t question Jongdae on what happened or why he had been drunk, alone, sobbing into a receiver at a public pay phone. His fluttering presence was calming, reassuring in a way that only Junmyeon could ever be. Jongdae wanted to hold on to him and never let go.

Eventually, when Junmyeon settled in beside him and tucked his feet up onto the couch, Jongdae slithered out a hand and latched onto the sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Junmyeon asked softly.

“Thanks for coming, hyung,” Jongdae said instead, fingers tightening in the loose fabric. Patiently, Junmyeon untangled them, closing both of his hands around Jongdae’s instead, filling it with his warmth. They sat, shaking, together.

“Anytime, ‘Dae.”

Jongdae must have drifted off at some point because the next time he was aware of his surroundings, he was splayed over the couch with Junmyeon’s head tucked under his chin and the throw haphazardly settled over their entangled bodies. One of Junmyeon’s legs had slipped off the side and was resting on the floor, leaving Jongdae’s feet exposed to the cool air. The rest of their limbs were warm, pressed close together. Jongdae could feel Junmyeon’s deep breaths against his clavicle.

Faint light was sleeping through the window, the greyish-blue hues of pre-dawn. Jongdae imagined that, just like him, the sun was getting ready to start the day. Suddenly, he was itching to paint.

He slipped out from under Junmyeon carefully, managing to tuck in a couch pillow where he himself had been. Junmyeon snuffled a little but didn’t wake, not even when Jongdae lifted his leg back onto the couch and pulled the throw up to his shoulders.

Careful to not make any noise, Jongdae retrieved his Winsor & Newton Cotman set, a few brushes, and one of his sketchbooks, settling in by the window to start on his work. By the third attempt of mixing the right shade of cerulean (it kept turning out too grey for his liking, too bleak), Jongdae knew that a painting of the sky wasn’t happening. It wasn’t so much that he was frustrated with his lack of progress, it was more that his hand longed to paint something else.

Namely, the lump of sleeping boy on the sofa. Jongdae wanted to capture everything - every nuance and every detail. He wanted to memorialise the way the soft light clung to the gel in his hair, the way it painted the shadows under his eyes in a dark indigo. He wanted to save those imperfections, those things that made Junmyeon so human and _beautiful._ He wanted to show them to Junmyeon and say, _“look! this is how much I like you!”_.

Junmyeon stirred awake roughly an hour later, when the light trailing over the smooth planes of his face was no longer cold and frigid, but rather held the warmth of broken dawn. Jongdae sat in silence and watched him stretch, brush poised over the page.

“Stay as you are,” he said into the quiet and Junmyeon jumped, surprised. Once his blurry eyes found and settled on Jongdae though, he relaxed.

“Brat,” he complained sleepily. “I have work soon.”

“I know,” Jongdae looked away and focused on his painting. “Just a bit longer.”

Junmyeon sighed but acquiesced, stretching out and burying his face back into the couch cushion that Jongdae had tucked under his cheek as he’d struggled out of Junmyeon’s hold earlier.

“Don’t you need, like, charcoal for that or something?” Junmyeon asked sleepily, words slurred, and Jongdae’s eyes jumped up from the page.

“Since when do you know what I like to work with, hyung?” he asked, genuinely surprised. Junmyeon just chuckled, voice still scratchy and uneven.

“I know more about you than you think, ‘Dae,” he said, then turned his face away. He didn’t move after that and Jongdae assumed that he had fallen back into a light doze, returning to his painting with a shaking hand and a pounding heartbeat.

***

He walked Junmyeon to the station that morning, still half-asleep and bundled up in the elder’s pea coat. For one reason or another, he had insisted on carrying Junmyeon’s briefcase and it bounced against his thigh with every step, papers rustling with the movement.

Junmyeon himself walked beside him, dressed in a tweed blazer jacket that Jongdae had never seen before. It sat well on his shoulders and tapered off nicely at his narrow waist.

“What are you looking at?” Junmyeon nudged him with his elbow, biting into pastry that Jongdae had bought for him and spilling crumbs down his front. Frustrated, Jongdae reached out and swiped them away.

“You,” he said through the stuttering of his heart and the heat in his cheeks, “you’re such a mess, hyung.” Junmyeon just cackled in response, shoving the rest of the pastry into Jongdae’s mouth to shut him up and throwing his head back to laugh harder when the younger pulled a disgusted face.

They waited for the train together, Junmyeon’s hands in his pockets and Jongdae’s curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to reach out and _touch_ again, wanted to feel Junmyeon’s warmth under his fingers. The warmth which grounded him in a way that he couldn’t - _refused to_ \- understand. He had given up on rationalising his emotions a long time ago.

“It’s not usually this busy on Thursdays is it?” Jongdae asked, glancing around at the cluster of men in business suits, all either reading the newspaper or with their head in a book. Junmyeon - in his tweed suit and with his hair neatly slicked back - blended in seamlessly. “Or do you always have to fight for a seat?”

“Not everyone is going to the same place, ‘Dae,” Junmyeon replied quietly, checking his watch with a furrowed brow. “Alright now, you’ve been enough of a gentleman. It’s time for you to go to work.”

“I can make it in five minutes,” Jongdae lied, handing over Junmyeon’s briefcase and trying to hide the fact that the easy dismissal stung, “don’t even worry about it. I want to see you onto the train first.”

“What’s up with you these days, Jongdae?”

Unprepared for the question, Jongdae took a moment to formulate a reply. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Junmyeon gestured vaguely, arm hanging in the air for a while before dropping back to his side, then sliding back into his pocket. “I mean all of this. Walking me places, asking me things. Back then, you didn’t realise I had dropped out of school until your parents pointed it out _sixth months_ later _._ But here you are now, knowing my timetable and chaperoning me around like it’s no big deal.”

“It isn’t a big deal,” Jongdae said, because it wasn’t.

“You woke me up this morning so I could _eat something before the eight-thirty train, hyung, I know you don’t have time to stop anywhere on the way to your office._ ”

“Yeah…and?” Jongdae squared up to Junmyeon a little, feeling oddly defensive.

“I just. I’m not looking for a fight, Jongdae,” Junmyeon stepped back, not rising to Jongdae’s confrontation. In his work clothes, he seemed untouchable anyway. “I just don’t understand what you want from me, that’s all.”

“Why must I _want_ something from you?”

“No, that’s-- that’s bad phrasing, ‘Dae, I just--” Junmyeon’s eyes were wide and hurt, the arriving train drowning out his words and he rushed to get them heard.

“You said to dial and call again but that’s a bit hard to do when you’re _not_ _picking up the fucking phone_ , hyung.”

Jongdae didn’t stick around to hear what Junmyeon had to say, turning sharply on his heel and heading towards the exit, hands shoved deep into his (Junmyeon’s) coat pockets. He suddenly wished he had brought his Walkman along with him, just so that he didn’t have to listen to Junmyeon not running after him.

***

Jongdae went home and packed his things.

Well, he mostly just threw everything he thought he’d need into an empty suitcase (a few changes of clothes, his most important textbook, some of his records) and dragged it over to the door, angrily stepping over Junmyeon’s messily-discarded clothes on his way. He stamped on Junmyeon’s shoes for a bit - he couldn’t quite contain the petty need to do so - and then stormed out of the door and onto the street.

He didn’t pass many people as he walked and _Solitude_ was turned up so high in his earbuds that he almost felt like his brain was rattling in his head. There were no people at the bus stop either and he stood, shifting from foot to foot as he waited, trying not to think about whether he was doing the right thing (he wasn’t, he knew it well).

The bus, when it arrived, was mostly empty as well, which was a relief for his pounding head. He shoved his suitcase onto the luggage rack and dropped into a seat, resting his head on the cool window and closing his eyes. He didn’t want to see his neighbourhood flashing past, didn’t want to think of the last time he had fled from there.

He managed not to think of Junmyeon until he was out of the town and weaving through vast fields and farmland, the wind pushing through the open bus window and chilling the back of his neck. He should have dressed more warmly despite the hot weather; it wasn’t summer anymore.

Thinking of Junmyeon wasn’t a logical process - it wasn’t a reel of thoughts on a film tape, clicking gently from scene to scene. It wasn’t a narrative either, wasn’t written out in chronological order from the day that they met (hell, Jongdae couldn’t even remember when that was) until that morning at the train station.

Rather, Junmyeon was a painting. Like all things in Jongdae’s life, Junmyeon was art. He was the endless opportunity of a clear canvas just as much as he was the perfection of a finished image. Figuring him out was as painstaking as working on a complex project, but the success of it was just as rewarding. He was beautiful, with his many colours and hues, his shadow and light. He was the versatility of watercolour and yet also the perseverance of oil. He was everything that Jongdae needed to work with.

Wordlessly, Jongdae stepped off the bus and started digging in his pocket for the money to buy a return ticket.

***

“You’re here,” Junmyeon said with obvious surprise as soon as he stepped out of the train and into Jongdae’s arms. They stood like that for a few moments, blocking the exit doors, just breathing each other in. When they were eventually pushed aside by the flow of people, Jongdae held on tight and pulled Junmyeon along behind him, making sure that their hands always stayed linked.

“Sometimes if someone doesn’t pick up, you call again,” he said as soon as they were in a quiet enough area to talk, hands still clasped together tightly. It was Junmyeon who pulled away first, hands cold and rough to the touch.

“I’m sorry, ‘Dae,” he said, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped under his suit jacket. “I tried to call you from work but you didn’t pick up. Then I guess I remembered you’d be at work too. Or something. I don’t know.” He kicked at the ground beneath his scuffed work shoes.

“I-“ Jongdae’s mouth clicked shut out of habit, but he forced the words out anyway. “I was on the bus. I was running away.”

Junmyeon raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Jongdae imagined him saying something like, _“well why are you here then?”_ and was suddenly glad for his silence.

“I came back,” he pushed on desperately.

“I can tell,” Junmyeon hummed.

Jongdae reached out and took Junmyeon’s briefcase (which was significantly heavier than it was that morning). “I’m staying here.”

“I’m glad,” Junmyeon said, something opening up in his eyes. Once again, it had taken too long for Jongdae to figure out why they had been shuttered in the first place.

“I’m not leaving again,” he said, “at least not without you.”

“Yeah?” Junmyeon breathed.

“Yeah.”

Junmyeon reached out again, hesitated, then laid a hand against his shoulder. “I won’t leave you to fight alone this time, ‘Dae,” he said softly. “I’m sorry that I did last time.”

It was Jongdae’s turn to remain silent, absorbing Junmyeon’s words and trying to piece together their meaning. But maybe Junmyeon had put more effort into understanding Jongdae too, because he didn’t leave it as a half-formulated riddle.

“With Jongin, and Chanyeol, and Baekhyun, and Kyungsoo, and your parents. I’ll help with all of that.” Junmyeon promised, ironing out the creases in his previous words, pushing the meaning through to Jongdae until he understood. “With your studies and your dreams and your art. You’ll have me to rely on.”

“Oh,” Jongdae felt something in his chest crack and suddenly he could breathe again, ribs no longer pushing down on his lungs like they had been doing for the past years.

“No need for phone metaphors when we’re right in front of each other, right?” Junmyeon’s smile was ethereal in the sunlight. Even with his hair mussed up and his clothes creased, he looked every bit the reliable hyung he was promising to be.

There were still people around them so Jongdae couldn’t do what he desperately wanted to - couldn’t reach out and cup Junmyeon’s face in his hands, couldn’t plant a hesitant kiss on the corner of his mouth. Instead, he linked his arm companiably through the elder’s and tugged him along, laughing when they stumbled together.

“Come on, hyung,” he urged through a smile, “let’s go home.” Junmyeon smacked him playfully on the shoulder but let himself be dragged out from the platform and up the steep incline to their house. If he slipped his hand into Jongdae’s when they were mostly out of sight, then that was between them and them only.


End file.
